


A Fine Cure from Fennel Seed

by Lucius Parhelion (Parhelion)



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1930s, Greenwich Village, Historical, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Slapstick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-01
Updated: 2009-01-01
Packaged: 2018-11-28 14:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11419929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parhelion/pseuds/Lucius%20Parhelion
Summary: Spenser and Leo just want a peaceful enough night shift for artist Leo to grab a little advice from his pharmacist pal. But this is Greenwich Village in 1932, so a drunk, employees, artsy sorts, nosy and noisy neighbors, relatives, a stripper, kids, and over-excited puppies will instead combine to confuse their friendship into something much more compelling.





	A Fine Cure from Fennel Seed

I

As it turned out, Spencer Blaine's initiation into the confusing pleasures of homosexuality was mainly due to a misunderstanding. He was inclined to be philosophical about the blunder. Having moved down-country from Vermont to Manhattan just as a falling stock market crushed the Jazz Age, he'd dealt with confusion before. The Great Crash had taught him to steer through disorder by guess and by gosh, and working where he did had kept him in good practice ever since. Still, who would have thought such a tangle could sprout from fennel seeds?

Even in Greenwich Village, business slowed around four in the morning. The steady stream of customers entering and exiting R. C. Platt's Apothecary would dwindle to the occasional sleepless sufferer from toothache or foresighted drinker seeking a seltzer-powder before heading home. Outside, the darkness seemed to thicken. Inside, the glare from the electric bulbs wired into the old gas chandeliers didn't keep shadows from gathering. Those shadows were only an illusion, a symptom of late night fatigue, but Spencer still triple-checked any prescription he filled during the last hours before dawn. Chimerical or genuine, shadows needed no encouragement these days.

Bells jangled as the front door opened. Spencer looked up. A portly, balding man in a poorly-fitted dinner jacket lurched into the store, obviously intoxicated. Lord knows where anyone found the money to pay what Village speakeasies charged in this year of 1932, but somehow fellows did. The customer surveyed his surroundings blearily before stumbling toward Bernice up at the front counter. Good luck to her. She preferred to manage such characters by herself, but Spencer would wager she'd have her hands full with this one. He returned to cross-checking his prescription file against the ointments he'd blended.

As he was frowning over some especially illegible handwriting on a prescription form, he heard the bells ring again. At least the new arrival they heralded was a welcome one. Leo Manin, dressed in his customary baggy brown suit and clutching his usual sketch pad under his arm, waved at Spencer as he entered. Then he veered left between a case of shaving supplies and the old oak wall-shelving as he headed back toward the prescription counter. His path would keep him well away from the intoxicated customer seemingly trying to buy something from the unfortunate Bernice. A fellow got good at avoiding drunks after a few years spent in the Village.

Reaching his goal, Leo put down his pad on the countertop and flipped it open. "Busy, Spence? I need a favor." Then his attention shifted down to his drawings.

Seeing that Leo had started reviewing his work, Spencer didn't bother continuing the conversation. Instead he made sure that his last tube of ointment was labeled correctly while Leo brooded over a red chalk of a young lady singing and strumming a ukulele.

Finished, Spencer studied Leo even as Leo studied his sketch. The view was appealing. Anyone would have to judge Leo handsome, gifted as he was with a strong frame, glossy brown hair, and dark, speaking eyes. He was a man you'd think would be painted, not painting. But there were small splotches of color on his shirt cuffs and hands that attested to his occupation. He'd had them even back at the Academy in Vermont where, rejected by the other boys, he and Spencer had made common cause for a time in their youths.

Leo left Vermont to join relatives in Manhattan after only two years at the Academy. As a scholarship student, the grandson of Italian marble carvers from Rutland, he'd been given ample cause for flight. Spencer, set apart by nothing worse than a family that manufactured Doctor Blaine's Black Bitters for Bowels, had endured until graduation. In fact, he'd endured Vermont right up until his wife left him in '29. He might still be enduring if Leo hadn't mentioned this opportunity at Platt's in one of his letters.

Funny, though, for years, Spencer had believed that memory exaggerated how striking his old school friend had been. He'd only realized his recollections hadn't lied after the adult Leo had visited Vermont in search of autumn landscapes. To this very day, even when Leo seemed as weary as he did now, he struck Spencer as looking like nothing more than those classical statues in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

All this aesthetic contemplation was diverting Spencer from the business at hand. He turned his attention toward the front of the store, where the intoxicated customer had gotten around to loudly demanding coffee.

"Sir, we don't have a lunch counter here," Bernice said, her adenoidal voice carrying clearly to the back. "Not even a soda fountain."

"No soda fountain? Hey, you're a drugstore. What 'n' heck do you think you're selling here, drugs?" The customer peered around, his posture hinting at dark suspicions.

Leo looked up from his pad. "I thought you were talking about putting in a soda fountain."

"Talking's not doing. You need me to sit for another cover illustration?"

"Right now I'm working on a cover for _Tropical Tales_ , not _Sagas of the Old West_ or _Amazing Sea Stories_. A hibiscus blossom tucked behind the left ear wouldn't help your craggy features much."

"Should also be mentioned, my ears stick out too far."

"Must be tough in a stiff breeze. Still, they could be charming in the right--" Leo broke off and cleared his throat. "Look, I have a problem and need professional advice."

Up front, the customer was counting on his fingers as he spoke."--Chumley's has coffee. Mori's has coffee. The Turkish Coffee Room has coffee--" Spencer had to admire Bernice for not interrupting her customer's long list with a suggestion that the fellow hie himself off to one of these many establishments that did serve coffee. But Spencer had a customer of his own to assist.

He focused his attention on Leo. "Go on."

Leo examined the shelves stocked with drugs behind Spencer for a bit before saying, "Okay, this is a little embarrassing."

"Never heard that before."

_"Tempo al tempo_. You may get to discuss pile creams, enemas, and rubber goods all the time, but some of us are more sensitive. Artistic, even."

Spencer snorted. The problem wasn't insomnia, or Leo wouldn't be hemming and hawing. Not venereal trouble, either, or he wouldn't be making bad jokes. And he'd once hinted that he bought his condoms elsewhere. Since Spencer couldn't imagine Leo ending up with lice or crabs, that left skin or digestive issues as the next most embarrassing possibilities. "Should I guess?"

"No, I thought I'd--" The middle of Leo’s sentence was drowned out by a plaintive bellow of "Coffee, coffee, coffee!" but at least Spencer caught"--wind."

Excessive flatulence: nothing rare, but crude enough to stifle easy conversation. At least the problem could be treated with a common remedy that was neither prescribed nor patent; Spencer had liked finding simple, cheap solutions for his customers even before the slump. "Easy, now. I know what you need."

"Sorry, I was being annoyed." Leo scowled toward the front of the store.

He was, at that. Mr. Coffee was stumbling up and down the aisles in search of his infusion of choice. Bernice was following at a discreet distance to make sure he didn't damage any merchandise. The odds in her favor weren't good. Any time now, they'd reach the tins of sale-priced hair pomade stacked up against one of the marble columns.

Turning to Leo, Spencer decided to employ the schoolboy Italian he'd been trying to polish for the sake of some faithful, elderly customers. A different tongue would at least give the two of them a little privacy. " _Avete bisogno del finocchio_." That should mean, "You need fennel."

Or maybe not. Leo's eyelids widened and his lips parted. He'd paled a little, too, making it obvious he'd been up long enough to need a trip to his barber for a shave. By gory, Spencer must have misspoken. Had he said something blue by mistake?

Old Mrs. Fontana at the greengrocers, who'd taught Spencer the Italian words for various herbs, hailed from Sicily while the Manins came from around Carrara. Perhaps Spencer's pronunciation had been poor or the word for fennel was different in the north. " _Finocchio_ ," Spencer enunciated with care before asking, "Was that clear?"

"Oh, that was clear. Blunt, even. But I guess I was also blunter than I meant to be. I must be slipping."

"You managed to make yourself understood. It's a simple enough matter, after all." Bicarbonate added to a crushed infusion of fennel seeds would knock the wind right out of a fellow far more efficiently than any nonsense like Black Bitters for Bowels.

Now Leo had taken to studying Spencer, his weary eyes oddly intent in the electric glare from the chandeliers. "You think so?"

"Yes, I do. Don't know why you took so long to ask."

They were interrupted by a crashing, clattering noise. Ayup, there went all the hair pomade. Bernice rushed forward to intercept some rolling tins as Mr. Coffee lurched on.

Leo scowled again. "Hey, should I speak with him?"

He could be touchy in the defense of others when he was tired. "Nope. See here, though. Why don't you wait for me upstairs?" Reaching into the pocket of his smock, Spencer took out his apartment keys and dangled them temptingly. "I'll be off soon, and I can come and fix you up."

As Leo took the keys, his smile was dazzling enough to grace a cover of _Photoplay_. "Gosh, I can't wait."

"You'd best wait. I'm not done until seven." Sensing movement, Spencer turned.

Warned, Leo snatched up his pad and stepped back just in time to avoid Mr. Coffee, who fetched up against the prescription counter, clutching the broad shelf with both hands. "Garçon! Coffee!"

"Do you have a prescription?"

"Wha'?"

Behind the fellow, Leo twirled the ring of keys around his index finger and then gestured up toward Spencer's apartment on the seventh floor. Spencer nodded and smiled briefly before asking Mr. Coffee, "A prescription, sir. Do you have a prescription?"

A look of horror passed across Mr. Coffee's features. "Now they've gone 'n' prescribed coffee? Prohibited coffee? Coffee? No more coffee?"

"No, sir. This is the--"

Mr. Coffee whirled around and pointed at Bernice, who'd approached with a dented tin of pomade in her hand. "That's it. I'm voting for Roosevelt. We need a New Deal."

Well, now. Seemed as if a man sharing your political inclinations might not save him from being a natural-born fool. Bernice, though, rose to the occasion. "Aren't we all? Did you know there's going to be a polling place right over at the fire station?"

"There is?"

"Uh-huh. You can go see, as soon as you're done paying for this." She handed him the dented tin of hair pomade.

"Is it what I came in for?"

"Sure. Just right for your hair color." She had Mr. Coffee by the arm, now, and was towing him back toward the front counter. "Since you're a customer, I'll even tell you where you can still find some coffee."

"Ssssshhhhhhhh," Mr. Coffee shushed past an index finger. "Not so loud. It's illegal now."

Spencer shook his head and went back to filling his allotted prescriptions. He'd have to remember to take some fennel seed with him when he went upstairs, to supplement his limited kitchen stock. Leo would likely be asleep, but he'd awaken soon after Spencer entered if experience was any guide.

Ever since the slump and the death of his brother-in-law had forced his sister's family to move in with him, Leo borrowed Spencer's couch whenever his kin got too rambunctious for good sleeping. He'd mostly awaken early and cook up some egg dish for his breakfast that also stretched to being a dinner for Spencer, a courtesy both economical and filling. But this particular morning, Leo would be having some fennel seed with his eggs.

With a smile at the thought, Spencer reached for the book of accounts awaiting his attention.

***

By ten after seven, when he'd turned over the counter to Nathan, Spencer was ready to leave. After Mr. Coffee was escorted out, the night had been quiet, so work hadn't left Spencer too spleeny. He was tired, though. This was a poor time for the elevator to be malfunctioning again since all those flights of stairs could strain the calmest temper.

However, he was also heading home, a cheering destination. Even though his immediate neighbors could be a tad intrusive, Spencer enjoyed the top floor apartment that he was allowed to rent cheaply as a night pharmacist. The place was tall-ceilinged and sunny, with a nice view of the hubbub on the streets below. Spencer even liked the hubbub.

Greenwich Village was both colorful and crowded. This was the first time Spencer had lived in a place where folks didn't know his name and business well enough to judge him. Although, Lord knows, he'd tried to behave, he'd been seen as a trifle odd up in Montpelier. Nice change of pace, being recognized as one of the ordinary fellows, if he was recognized at all.

"Good morning, Mr. Blaine," Mrs. Engle said from above him as she descended the stairs. His next-door neighbor was an elderly mouse of a woman, but Leo had told Spencer she played piano in the pit at a burlesque theater, not to mention helping out the girls with their costumes.

Everyone did what they could to get by these days. Spencer made sure to tilt his boater as he said, "Good morning, Mrs. Engle."

To his surprise, she paused. "Mr. Blaine, may I trouble you for a favor? I must see to my sister, Ida. But I may have a visitor while I'm out. One of my young ladies is coming around for a rush fitting."

"Should I let her in if you're late?" He kept her spare key, in case of emergencies.

"Please. I'll tell her to knock loudly." She seemed flustered. "I do hope her visit won't interrupt your rest."

Spencer settled for shrugging, and she smiled in obvious relief before continuing down the stairs.

Well. Seemed as if a busy day might lie ahead. Good thing Spencer woke up lively even when he'd bedded down tired. He'd have to make sure that his bathrobe was laid out in case the young lady called while he was asleep.

As he exited onto the seventh floor from the stairwell, he could hear the faint sound of robust singing coming from the apartment across the hall. Mr. Meyers was practicing his art again. Spencer hoped Leo hadn't been disturbed.

His apartment door was unlocked, of course. Spencer entered, then turned to shut and lock the door quietly behind him. He'd not even finished hanging his hat and coat on the rack when Leo grabbed him.

"Christ, Spence, could you have taken any longer?"

"Now, wait. My hat." His straw boater had gone flying, and no wonder. Being yanked into a tight embrace was startling enough, although Leo had done that a couple-three times before, under the impetus of strong emotion. But this time he'd also pushed Spencer back against the wall next to the coat rack. His hands were shifting, sliding slowly along Spencer's sides as if they shaped something both smooth and precious.

"Forget the hat. Feels like I've been waiting forever, you damn clam."

Why was Leo tugging at Spencer's shirttails? Where was his other hand go-- Oh, Jeezum. Spencer's pulse, which had already quickened, now pounded in his ears as Leo roughly stroked Spencer through his trousers. All the while, Leo kept right on talking. "I knew I was right. Knew it. How long were you going to stonewall? Sure, cautious is good, but--"

"Leo, you--"

"Sorry. It's strange, but I have to--" He leaned forward and his lips found Spencer's.

Courtesy of the fast girls back home, Spencer had learned that kissing was harmless. Kissing was even fun when both parties had good teeth and access to doublemint, sen-sen, or the like. But those past kisses were to this feral merging of lips what calves were to the bull.

Spencer's lips parted with the shock of his own lust. Then he was busy relearning old lessons and making new discoveries about how much heat mere kissing could produce. Leo's stubble rasped Spencer's skin as his lips moved over Spencer's face. Their mouths rejoined, muffling any more questions or explanations. Leo smelled of linseed oil, turpentine, and good pomade. His fingertips seemed to scorch as they searched out bits of bare skin to touch beneath Spencer's clothing.

Even though Spencer felt as if he was falling, that didn't keep him from returning Leo's kisses, from searching with his tongue as he'd been searched. Eagerly, he explored the flavors of Leo's mouth, caught the hints of anise, of coffee. Not even Spencer's growing arousal made him pull away from the hands that groped him as they unbuttoned his fly, yanked at the elastic of his combinations, and set him free. When Leo's mouth finally pulled away from his own again, Spencer did nothing much but breathe hard. All things considered, he had to take his share of the blame when Leo fell to his knees and opened his lips around Spencer's cock to gather it in.

Spencer drew a sharp breath. This was altogether new and entirely devastating. He felt his face, already pink from the rasp of Leo's stubble, flush; the muscles in his thighs tensed. Convulsively, he worked his fingers against the wallpaper as he tried to consider anything other than the maddening, wet mouth now enveloping his cock. Staring up at the plastered ceiling, at the lamp with its rotating fan, at the flypaper hanging in one corner, didn't help him. All he could think of was how much he wanted to rut in Leo's mouth until he spent.

He couldn't do that, could he? Frustrated, Spencer slapped the wall behind him hard with both palms. Leo made a muffled, greedy noise, and Spencer's hips thrust forward even as he argued with himself. The movement left him fretting about choking Leo with the tiny bit of his brain not busy desiring perversity.

Trapped between passion and worry, nearly petrified, Spencer looked down. As he did, Leo looked up, mouth still working Spencer. Their gazes met. The mouth around him stilled.

Spencer shook his head no, to what he wasn't sure. A couple-three heartbeats passed before Leo pulled away so fast that he nearly fell over onto his behind. Instinctively, Spencer reached out to help, but Leo knocked the hands away. Then he straightened, still kneeling, and Spencer could see for the first time how aroused Leo was beneath the familiar, brown cloth of the baggy trousers. Spencer felt his face go slack with surprise.

Leo looked down at himself. Then he looked up and examined Spencer. "Crap," he almost breathed.

Spencer gazed at him, still mute.

Leo licked his lips. "You've never--" When Spencer nodded reluctant agreement, Leo's expression shifted to appalled. He swallowed and sat back on his heels. In a moment, he'd get up.

Something had to be said. As if from a distance, Spencer heard himself ask in his driest tones, "You're stopping?"

Leo's eyes widened. His appalled expression slowly yielded to something else, something both wary and expectant.

Spencer could see how dark Leo's eyes were, how his cheeks and chin were shadowed by stubble, and how his pulse was beating strongly where the hollow of his neck was exposed by an unbuttoned collar. But Spencer's gaze was held by Leo's lips, lush and full from what he'd been doing, ruddy and wet. Spencer wanted to touch, and some inner voice told him that he should. Reaching out three fingers, his traced them along the lovely, familiar mouth, soft under his fingertips, and saw the wariness disappear from Leo's eyes.

Beneath Spencer's caress -- that was what it was, a caress -- warm lips shifted as Leo grinned. "I take it, the answer you're hoping for is 'no.'"

Spencer yanked back his fingers, folded his arms, and glared. Then he nodded again.

The grin softened. "No fooling?"

"I don't fool." The words came out sounding stiff, but at least they came out.

Leo's gaze dropped and he raised both eyebrows. "Yeah, I can see that you don't." At long last, he reached out to wrap a strong-fingered hand around Spencer's cock, and Spencer gritted his teeth to hold back a grunt of relief at the renewed warmth and pressure. "Okay, okay. Hold your horses."

Even as he spoke, Leo was working him hard, gazing up at Spencer with a sultry look that shifted back into a grin when Spencer snorted. Waggling his eyebrows like Groucho Marx, Leo said, "You really have to give a girl a minute to adjust, here."

He didn't strike Spencer as the least bit girlish, but that didn't seem to matter as Leo leaned forward and took Spencer's cock back into his mouth. This time he pulled it in slowly, rubbing his tongue in wet, searching paths along the bottom of the shaft, pausing to stroke and suck before he slid each small distance deeper.

The mischief in Leo's expression made Spencer want to respond, but he wasn't sure how. He had to settle for flicking Leo's ear as he'd done when they were in school together and Leo had teased him without mercy. Ridiculous as the gesture felt, Spencer was rewarded by the sight of Leo's eyelids narrowing as his head began to move faster.

"Leo?" The single word sounded hoarse.

"Mmmhmnn?" Leo's humming noise of inquiry felt maddening around Spencer's cock.

"Thanks."

Leo's eyes glinted. He shifted his hands from Spencer's hips to his buttocks, where he gripped and squeezed hard. Then he sucked harder. Caught by surprise, Spencer groaned as he spent. At the last moment, he managed to get a shirt cuff over his mouth and muffle most of the noise, but after that he couldn't do anything much but thrust and feel. Seeing how Leo's lips moved as he swallowed didn't help Spencer's composure at all.

When Spencer came back to himself, leaning against the wall and panting harshly, he had to pause and clear his throat before he could ask, "Did that hurt you?"

Leo stopped working his jaw. "Nope. I admit, you were kind of rough, but I knew what I was doing."

"I could tell," Spencer said, and was pleased the words came out sounding like the complement he'd meant them to be.

An almost invisible tension in Leo's shoulders relaxed. He got up from the floor and brushed off his trouser knees. Then, "You'd better clean up," he said, nodding toward Spencer's softening cock, still free from the confinement of clothing.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

Spencer gazed pointedly down at the difficulty in question, a fairly formidable one by now. "Seems as if there should be something for me to do here."

"What are you, nuts? I shouldn't have to tell a pharmacist not to take too large a dose when you don't know the prescription." Abruptly, Leo moved to embrace Spencer again. The feeling of his hardness, pressed against Spencer's leg through layers of fabric, wasn't sordid as Spencer might have expected. In fact, it felt pleasing. The brush of warm cloth against Spencer's still sensitive cock was pleasing, too.

Tentatively, Spencer tried sliding his own arms around Leo to pet him, which made Leo shudder before he said, "Nice try." He pulled away to look at Spencer, his expression serious. "What we really need to do is figure out what caused this mix-up. Why don't you head for the bathroom and wash up? Then I can take care of my own business before we talk. And have a glass of water. Maybe drink some more coffee."

"Humph," Spencer said, but he'd learned from his customers when not to push. "Might as well pick up my boater and coat while you're at it," he said, on his way into the bathroom, "seeing as how you're the one who knocked them onto the floor."

When he reemerged after a fast tub-bath, his hair wet and in his shirtsleeves, Leo was reclining on the couch with his head pillowed on an arm. He appeared considerably more relaxed than he had been earlier. In fact, he seemed halfway to sleeping. He'd opened one of the windows but wasn't stirring at the sounds of street noises drifting up.

Appearances were deceiving. Without introduction, Leo asked, "You still doing okay?"

"Fine, in one way. Shaky, in another. What just happened?"

"One whale of a misunderstanding." A smile came and went on Leo's lips. "Do you know what 'finocchio' means?"

"Fennel. Speaking of which, I brought some upstairs for you to take with bicarbonate. Considering what you've been swallowing, you'd best take it soon or you'll be bloating again."

"Huh?"

"Fennel seed, to treat your wind. You told me this morning that you had wind."

A good few seconds went by before Leo's eyes widened and he snorted a laugh. "Oh, I get you. I was trying to be sarcastic. What I said was no, I thought I'd leave you twisting in the wind. That drunk must have drowned out most of my words."

"He did." Spencer sat in the armchair and thought for a bit. "Well, then. What else does 'finocchio' mean besides fennel?"

"About what you'd think. Nance. Fairy. Pansy. Invert or homosexual, if you're nice or medical, which you are, both." He spread the fingers on both hands. "Me."

"I see." Spencer considered this idea and found that he was almost horrified not to be more horrified. He did have a touch of that falling sensation again.

After more silence, Leo asked, his eyes half-closed again, "Now, how are you doing?"

"Still shaky. I liked what we did."

"Believe me, it showed." There was another pause before Leo started, "Spence, I have to tell you--" just as Spencer blurted, "I'm thinking that I may--"

They both stopped. Leo waved. "Your place, you go first."

"I'm thinking that I may know now why Maude left me."

Leo sat up and retorted, "She left because she loathed Vermont and liked rich outlanders. Especially Mr. You-know-who." Catching Spencer's steady gaze, he deflated a little. "Okay, sure, part of this might have had something to do with her decision."

"To tell truth, I don't know what happens next."

"One, don't get panicky and try anything dumb. My right hook is faster than yours, and you've already been married." Leo shook his head as someone knocked and kept knocking. "Two, answer your door. We can run down the rest of the list later."

Reluctantly, Spencer went over to his apartment door and opened it. He looked out into the hall. Then he looked down. Two well-dressed children, one small boy and one smaller girl, looked back up at him. Between them, they held a little wicker basket, lined with old newspapers, that seemed to be filled to the brim with tiny, furry, squirming puppies.

Turning back to Leo, Spencer said, "It's for you."

II

"What?" Leo asked, frowning.

The sound of his voice was enough. Phillip and Teresa crowded past Spencer and charged the couch, chanting, "Uncle Leo, Uncle Leo." They jostled the basket against the end table en route, and all the puppies started to yip and yap.

Across the hall, Mr. Meyers' singing stopped. Quickly, Spencer shut his door and turned to find Leo, now outnumbered, being tugged on by his niece and nephew, as well as two of the puppies that had somehow climbed out of the basket. Spencer moved to scoop up a third escapee who'd been making a dash for the hall and freedom. "No," he told her firmly and at close range. Predictably, she attempted to wash his face.

"What are you two doing, crossing streets?" Leo was asking sternly. "And shouldn't you be in school or something?" He'd gotten a grip on one of the puppies. The other had a grip on him, or, rather, on his left trouser cuff.

"Today's Saturday," Teresa said, unrepentant, and added, "We held hands and waited for the policeman."

"It's only two blocks," Phillip put in impatiently. Turning to Spencer, he asked, "Mr. Blaine, do you want a puppy?"

"No."

"But she likes you."

Spencer placed her back in the basket where the remaining two puppies had sensibly decided to ignore their surroundings and curl up for a nap. However, Spencer's new acquaintance was attempting to scale the sides again. "Seems she likes her freedom more."

Leo handed another puppy to Spencer. "Why are you two persecuting my pal with puppies?"

"We won them," Teresa said.

"I won them, top spinning. But Ma won't let us keep 'em," Phillip added, sounding aggrieved.

"I second that decision," Leo told them, fastening onto this important point even as he unfastened the puppy from his trouser cuff.

"They're not very big. They won't eat much," Teresa wheedled.

Spencer turned from settling his puppy into the basket, only to be handed the latest puppy. This fellow had settled into a rhythmic bark that he seemed determined to keep on with for a while.

"Hush, you," Spencer said firmly, and was rewarded with both silence and frantic tail-wagging that somehow involved the puppy's entire posterior. Spencer quickly put him back down with the others.

"Big has nothing to do with it," Leo was saying. Somebody knocked.

"I'll get it," Teresa said.

Her brother, ignoring her, said, "Hey, Mr. Blaine, you missed one."

Sweet Jerusalem. The girl pup was out again and determinedly heading toward the bathroom, with who knew what evil intent. Spencer stepped fast and lunged. She dodged.

"Don't," Leo told Teresa, and added, "Phillip, give me a hand."

His niece must have ignored him. Even as Spencer lunged again and came up with the puppy -- she yapped, obviously enjoying this game -- Teresa opened the door and said, "Hello. Come in, please."

A low, husky voice said, "Thank you, dear."

Spencer turned to see a tall, well-formed blonde standing in his doorway. She wore an overcoat much too warm for August. Teresa took her by the hand and tugged her over to the basket. "Would you like a puppy?"

"Here, take this," Leo said, dumping yet another puppy into Phillip's arms; either Spencer was losing count or some of the puppies were repeating their escapes. His nephew just stood there, holding the puppy and staring across the room toward the basket. Firmly restraining his own wriggling burden, Spencer also looked in that direction.

Spencer's latest visitor was slowly unbuttoning her overcoat as she listened to Teresa explaining the virtues of puppies. Underneath, she wore satin shorts, a spangled brassiere, garter belt and stockings, high heels, and not much else.

Spencer glanced at Leo. Leo looked down at his nephew, and one hand made an awkward attempt at covering Phillip's eyes, a gesture that was a tad ironic, considering recent events. Phillip ducked the hand and then stood examining their visitor with his head tilted and his eyebrows knitted, seemingly not sure why he'd bothered. The various puppies yapped.

"--and they're fuzzy," Teresa concluded triumphantly.

The woman said, "They are darling. But I need to speak with your...father?" she finished doubtfully, her gaze moving back and forth between Leo and Spencer. "The man who lives here."

Phillip seemed to emerge from his trance. "My father fell off a freight train," he corrected with the kind of condescension only an eight-year-old could muster. "That's Mr. Blaine." Stepping forward, he handed her his puppy. "Here."

"You must be Mrs. Engle's tailoring appointment," Spencer managed to wedge in.

"I'm Lola Lavance. She's fixing the rest of my costume," the woman said, gesturing down with the puppy. It yipped a protest, and she petted it absently. "This is an emergency."

"Oh, no," Teresa said sympathetically. "Did someone steal your dress?"

There was a brief pause broken only by more yips. Then, "Mr. Blaine," another voice interrupted from the open doorway, "I really must protest. Our leases clearly state that we are allowed one pet, and one pet only."

"Would you like a puppy?" Teresa asked Mr. Meyer.

"Thank you, child, but no."

"They're fuzzy," Teresa told him. Having learned something from her brother, she scooped up a puppy from the basket and shoved it into his plump hands before he could resist.

"One, two, three--" That was Leo, sounding rather frazzled. "Spence, I think we're missing a canine." They exchanged a look; puppies were not what they'd meant to be pondering just now.

But life could be like that these days: chaotic. "Check the hall," Spencer said. He transferred his own prisoner to Phillip without having time to add the glare the boy had so thoroughly earned. Instead he headed for the kitchen.

"These seem to be largely Maltese," Mr. Meyers was saying, likely to Teresa. "Maltese often are quite fuzzy, as you put it."

"What's a Maltese?" Teresa asked.

"I'll let you into Mrs. Engle's apartment in a moment, Miss Lavance," Spencer said. "Have you, by any chance, seen another puppy?"

"Take your time. Is that who you're looking for, over by the coat rack? He's eating something."

Alarmed, Spencer moved fast. The puppy sat on his round hocks, happily chewing away. "Bad pup. Give me that."

"'The tiniest dog Nature has ever produced/Her coat of long hair, whiter than ermine/Her movements exquisitely graceful--'" Mr. Meyers was obviously quoting.

Thank heavens that this puppy was only eating fennel seed. Some must have scattered from Spencer's coat pocket when he dropped it on the floor after Leo-- No time to think about intimacies now.

"Is he poisoned?" Phillip asked. To give credit where due, he sounded alarmed.

"No. His breath may be fresher. Good for any flatulence, too. Find a cover for that basket."

Spencer must have sounded like he meant business. "Okay," Phillip said.

Miss Lavance was sitting in Spencer's armchair, perfectly comfortable lounging in her long stockings with a puppy. Mr. Meyers, still holding his own puppy, was explaining something about knights, royalty, and the Isle of Malta to Teresa, who seemed fascinated. Spencer had a third puppy, and the fourth was sleeping in the basket, apparently undisturbed by all this social to-do. The fifth was gone.

No, here came Leo back into the apartment with Mrs. Engle, who was cradling the formerly missing puppy. Leo was saying, "You really don't have to--"

Mrs. Engle interrupted him gently. "I enjoy dogs, Mr. Manin. Not to mention, I have lately been remembering my own dear Cerberus." She turned to Spencer. "I understand these puppies are to be given away?"

Teresa let out a series of happy squeals while clapping her hands. "Yes," Spencer managed to get out over her noises of triumph, which had set all the puppies to yipping again.

"Mr. Blaine, do you think your boater would fit?" Phillip called from over by the basket. Then, spotting his uncle, he asked, "Hey, Uncle Leo, what's flatulence?"

Spencer's living room was shrinking by the second. "No, my boater wouldn't fit," Spencer said, right as Leo said, "Ask Mr. Blaine."

"But Uncle Leo--"

"I think you're very smart," Teresa told Mr. Meyers, with wide and pleading eyes. "I think you deserve a royal puppy."

He must not have been as immunized to coaxing as her uncle. "Well, perhaps--" he began.

Spencer missed the end of that. Phillip asked him, "Mr. Blaine, what's flatulence?"

"You should ask your mother." Craven, but discretion could be the better part of valor.

"But, sir, you're the one who said--"

"One, two, three, four--" Leo was trying to count again.

"Do you think a puppy might look good in my latest routine?" Miss Lavance asked Mrs. Engle.

"It's true that white is one of your best colors, dear."

"Phillip. Teresa. There you are." The familiar, feminine voice held a true note of doom. Everyone turned to the doorway, where Leo's sister, Laura, stood, obviously fuming. Her gaze traveled slowly from Teresa to Mr. Meyers, over her brother and Phillip, and past Spencer to end at Miss Lavance, demonstrating a possible puppy-as-burlesque-prop move for Mrs. Engle.

All things considered, it was unfortunate that Phillip chose that moment to attempt a diversion. "Ma, what's flatulence?"

***

This was not the conversation Spencer had wanted. He'd met Laura before, of course, and had even filled prescriptions for her at Platt's, but he didn't know her well enough for cozy chats. Especially right now, so soon after he and her brother had..."Sugar?"

"Two lumps," Laura said.

Spencer dropped them into the cup. Then he handed Leo's sister her coffee. Somehow, as part of a decision Spencer would have protested if he'd been consulted, Leo had been assigned to take both children and two of the puppies home. Meanwhile, giving proof that they weren't dim, Mr. Meyers and Mrs. Engle had hastily retired to their respective apartments with the remaining three puppies and Miss Lavance in tow.

Laura picked up the spoon and stirred her coffee. As she did, she glanced down at the leaking bag of seed that had ended up on the kitchen table, and her gaze sharpened. "Oh, fennel."

"Good for wind," Spencer said almost automatically. He took a deep draught of his own coffee; the recent confusion of puppies had left him even wearier than before. At this point, caffeine seemed a necessary prescription.

"Is that why Phillip was asking about flatulence? Never mind; I'm trying to blot the last fifteen minutes from my memory. Our Nonna used fennel tea, too. I'm sure you'll find it helpful."

Spencer thought briefly about explaining that this fennel seed had been meant for Leo. He quickly abandoned the notion. "A good cooking spice."

"You cook? That's right, Leo told me you have to. Do you bake?"

"Sometimes."

"I have a nice recipe for fennel bread." She studied him for a few seconds. "You should come over for dinner this Sunday."

"Thank you," Spencer said, confused by the invitation. Surely she couldn't suspect.

"Poor Leo. He won't bring over any of his lady friends for fear I'll think the kids and I are ruining his love life, and he won't bring over the men for fear I'll think he's fixing me up."

Spencer settled for shrugging.

"For all that, he's a good brother."

"He's enjoying himself." Now that he considered, he realized words he had meant to be kind were mostly true. "Makes him feel more of a man, I suppose, helping you out with the children rather than living the same old Village life."

"I know. He's always wanted to have everything both ways. Bohemian artist and steadily employed; long, chatty letters and keeping his council; womanizing bachelor and family man. Manhattan and Vermont."

"By and large, he does well."

"By and large is right. Did he manage to speak with you last night?"

After a cautious pause, Spencer said, "Well, now. There was this drunk, you see--"

"Isn't there always? I suppose I wasn't playing fair, seeing if he would ask you for me instead of taking care of my own business."

"You're the one he wanted advice for?"

Shaking her head with an exasperation that somehow struck Spencer as very sisterly, she said, "If you want anything done, do it yourself."

Spencer waited patiently. After a pause for more coffee, she suddenly said, "I wanted to consult you about a, um, medical difficulty."

He could think of several possibilities, one of which he truly dreaded.

"I need prophylaxis."

That wasn't dreadful, merely sensible. But he'd thought Leo had his own supplier. No, Leo actually didn't need prophylaxis. Or did he? Spencer frowned at his own ignorance. In any case, Laura--

"If it's too much trouble--" Her chin was high.

"No." Laura had misinterpreted his silence, and served Spencer right for ignoring a patient in favor of his own concerns. "You'll be needing something better than condoms. I'm trying to decide which of the doctors I know won't behave like a horse's rear end about your request."

"I think the kids' doctor would faint if I even hinted at what I want, me being a widow and all."

"Educated fools."

After smiling so dazzlingly that Spencer could clearly see her resemblance to her brother, she said, "You've managed to make me miss Vermonters. That's quite a feat."

Spencer flushed. "Let me get paper and pen, and I'll write you a note for the likeliest candidate." He got up to go over to his desk in the living room just as somebody knocked.

"I hope that's not anyone about those puppies," Laura said. She took another sip of her coffee.

"I'd say you're likely going to end up with one of them, knowing Leo." Spencer went to open the door.

"I wish I could argue." She sighed. "Pets are supposed to be good for children."

"So I've heard." He opened his door, only to be confronted by the well-scrubbed face of Mr. Coffee.

Before he could speak, Mr. Coffee said, "I have to say, fella, those stairs are awfully steep."

"Good morning. Elevator cage is sitting on this floor. It's likely fixed by now. You could try it."

Ignoring the suggestion, Mr. Coffee continued, "It sure took me a lot of arm-twisting to get your name and address out of those characters downstairs. You'd think you were the owner."

"I am. Part owner, that is, until Mr. Platt chooses to retire." Someone at Platt's would be hearing about this, at length.

"Congratulations, I guess. Say, what I really need is her name and address."

"And who would 'her' be?" Not that Spencer couldn't guess, but he was still trying, likely in vain, to discover if Mr. Coffee could take a hint.

"Her. Her! The most beautiful woman in the Village. You have to know; you work with her, you lucky son of a gun."

Were they both talking about the same person? Spencer supposed Bernice had a certain presence, but-- By the footsteps, here came someone else along from the stairwell to join this latest ruckus. Of course.

However, Mr. Coffee was still in full cry. His hands drew shapes in the air as he spoke. "She's everything a man could want. A goddess. Like Cleopatra."

Leo thumped Mr. Coffee's shoulder from behind. "Hey, that had better not be my sister you're talking about."

From behind Spencer in the living room, Laura said, "As if I would." She sounded a tad offended.

Ignoring her, Mr. Coffee turned to Leo and asked, "Is your sister everything a man could want? A goddess, like Helen of Troy?" He studied Leo for a minute before saying, his doubt obvious, "I suppose a sister of yours might look pretty good, for a brunette. But I'm after a blonde."

"Oh, thank you," Laura said, now craning over Spencer's shoulder.

Turning back, Mr. Coffee took off his fedora and said, "Good morning, ma'am. Could you tell me where I can find the most beautiful woman in Greenwich Village?"

Spencer could tell Laura's retort was going to be a beauty. He found he was disappointed when Leo rushed in with, " _Madonna mia_ , you're after--" Catching the twin glares directed at him from the doorway, he changed his words to "--Spence's night clerk."

"That's the one. A goddess, like Sappho."

"Um, not quite like Sappho, I think," Leo said, as Laura snorted behind Spencer.

"Was Sappho a brunette?" Mr. Coffee asked doubtfully.

"Yeah, sure. Brunette."

Spencer had seized this chance to turn to Laura and ask, "Is -- you-know-who -- truly that good looking?"

"I thought Leo said you only noticed women who were blonde," Laura said, her expression clouding. "Or was he merely trying to keep me off you?"

"Redheads," Spencer said quickly. Just in time, he'd realized that his recently comprehended preference for women who weren't women was not one to be shared.

Appeased, Laura said, "I'd think you would have noticed her figure, at least."

"Well, yes. I admit, I've been distracted by her competence. And the voice."

"Hmm."

"That face. Those eyes. The..." Mr. Coffee made an unmistakable gesture in front of his chest. Leo didn't seem impressed.

Spencer cleared his throat. "Sir. Sir!" At least the fellow stopped his gestures. "You should recollect, fair is as fair does. And Platt's has strict rules about the privacy of its employees."

"But I'm in love," Mr. Coffee protested.

"Oh, are you now?" Bernice asked from the doorway to the stairwell. Jezum: the day clerks must have telephoned her.

"Hmm. This could be interesting," Laura said.

"Glad she's off the clock," Spencer said, with true and heartfelt gratitude.

***

Spencer propped his elbows on his kitchen table, settled his chin on his hands, and wondered if he could sneak a few winks while Leo and Laura finished reviewing the latest mayhem in the hall.

"I liked the part where Miss Lavance was leaving from her fitting and recognized that masher," Laura said.

"Well, I liked when Mr. Meyers opened his door to see what was causing all the noise again, and Issa the puppy ran out and piddled on masher-fella's shoes," Leo said. "Meyers liked that part, too."

"No," Laura retorted, "the best bit was when the masher tried to retreat into the elevator, and the cage got stuck again, and you three pried the doors open."

"And then Bernice reached all the way through the bars to tweak his nose? That was pretty much the best part, yeah," Leo said. He took a sip of coffee.

Laura nodded decisively. Then she put down her cup on its saucer and frowned. "I hope I'm not going to find chaos like that waiting when I get home."

"No, no. I left Phillip and Teresa with Mark, and told them they couldn't keep one of the puppies if they didn't come up with a good home for the other one."

"Oh, wonderful," his sister said. "Thanks for overturning my judgment. Well, it's your apartment."

Leo looked sheepish. Spencer reached for his own coffee.

"Not to mention, since you told them to make a plan, I'd guess we have maybe half an hour left before they burn down the Village."

"I don't know why you always make them sound like little devils."

"Because they are little devils? Kind-hearted, reasonably polite, all-too-clever little devils." She snorted. "I'm their mother, not blind." Turning to Spencer, she said, "Thank you for being so tolerant toward their shenanigans."

"A pleasure."

"Maybe." She shot a glance at her brother. "Thanks for helping me with that other matter, too. I'd die for my kids, but that doesn't mean I want more while I'm trying to decide if I'm staying a widow. As soon as I get a prescription, I'll be back for the right prophylaxis."

"Holy Mother!" Clapping hands over his ears, Leo said, "I'm deaf now. Bad enough you mentioned such a matter to me when we were alone."

Laura rolled her eyes at him before turning to Spencer and asking, "Would you mind sending along that note we were discussing with Sir Galahad, here?"

"Nope."

"Thanks." She reached over to yank one of her brother's hands away from his ears. "You'd better borrow Mr. Blaine's couch again since I now have all three kids trying to decide which puppy they want to keep. That's going to get loud, and you need sleep." Turning toward Spencer, she asked, "We'll see you at Sunday dinner? There'll actually be roast beef, although I wouldn't dare to predict how much."

Spencer nodded.

Dropping his hands, Leo said, "Tell the kids not to let the puppy chew on my clothes or shoes, okay? Some of those paints I use are pretty poisonous."

"I will." She stood, and so did Spencer and Leo. Offering a hand to Spencer, she said, "I'm glad I'm finally getting to know one of Leo's friends. At least it's his best friend." Then she turned to kiss her brother on the cheek. "There'll be some leftovers in the icebox, in case you want to stay up with your work again."

"Thanks," Leo said, and Spencer went to see her out.

When he came back, Leo had taken the coffee cups to the sink and was rinsing them.

"That's not needed," Spencer said.

"Sure it is. You don't slay my kin; I have to do your dishes."

Spencer sat back down at the kitchen table. He had just decided he could likely sleep and watch Leo rinse dishes at the same time when Leo asked, "You really didn't notice what a hot number Bernice is?"

"I did. I'm not blind. It didn't seem all that important."

"Okay. I'm not sure how else to put this, old friend, but I think you're a little too fond of fennel."

"You don't say."

Leo grinned, but continued, "Mind you, there are lots of fellows who can walk down both sides of the street. You might be one of them."

Spencer considered the little he'd heard on the topic of inversion, most of it unpleasant. "How many of those fellows are lying to themselves about women?"

"You trust me to answer?" Spencer gave him a level look. "Okay, lots. But they have reasons. Take it from me, this life can be grim."

"Worse than being Italian at the Academy?"

"Much."

"Humph. Bad, then."

"Uh-huh. Think about how many lies you've told in the past two hours."

"Well." Spencer considered. "I've told a whopper of a truth, too."

"Not to mention, this is all really illegal."

"Have to say, there's hardly an upright country apothecary who hasn't broken the law at some time or another. Patients have needs."

"I'll remember that, next time I want a drink when I'm on a sketching expedition."

Spencer shot him a quelling look. "However, whatever my future choices might be, I can't make them now. I'm too tired."

"So am I." Leo stretched and then yawned. "Coffee isn't working any more. Only the prospect of satisfying long-frustrated lust, followed by the kids' reign of terror, got me this far. Me for the couch."

Suppressing a yawn of his own, Spencer said, "Don't be foolish."

"What?"

"There's no longer reasons not to share." He'd shipped in his old furniture from Vermont rather than buy new, so his bed was a double. "Better breeze in the bedroom, too."

After a few seconds of consideration, Leo nodded. "Okay." Without another word, he turned and headed toward the bathroom.

Before he got up, Spencer made sure to collect the little bag of fennel seed. Chewed, fennel was good for a nervous digestion upon awakening. He checked that his apartment door was locked. Then he double-checked.

Leo came out of the bathroom. With a weary smile, he blew Spencer a kiss before wandering off toward the bedroom.

Fennel seed freshened the breath upon awakening, too.

III

They'd opened wide the bedroom windows, turned on the ceiling fan, and stripped down to their underwear. Spencer had peeled back the quilt and blanket, leaving nothing but a sheet to pull over them. Even so, this August afternoon was too warm for good sleeping. But heat couldn't defeat the waves of exhaustion.

Spencer was surprised at how well he slept, given the noises of the day. True, he was half woken several times by wrangles on the sidewalk below or various sounds from what promised to be a rent party to remember beginning a floor or two down. But whenever Spencer would start to stir at the noise, enough to be sleepily surprised by someone being in the bed with him, he'd catch Leo's familiar scent or small sounds and settle down again. Between the awakenings, Spencer's slumber was lavishly deep.

By the time he finally roused enough to lie wondering if he was getting up, daylight was fading outside and he could hear the familiar street sounds of early evening. Taxis honked. Down at the rent party, a gramophone was playing "Minnie the Moocher." Some party-goers were singing along, mostly off-key.

Spencer sat up, turned on the bedside lamp, and then contemplated his bedmate, who only wore boxers and had kicked off the sheet. Lover of fennel or not, Leo was beautiful. He stirred as if he was sensing Spencer's regard in his sleep.

When Leo rolled over and opened his eyes, Spencer said, "You can go back to sleep if you'd like."

"Maybe," Leo said. His smile was both drowsy and lascivious. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, and slowly tugged them down.

That was when the alarm clock rang; Spencer should have recollected how often he awoke right before it went off. With a growl, Leo lunged across Spencer to flail at the clock, almost knocking it onto the floor before Spencer took it away from him and switched off the bells. Leo had also managed to tangle his feet in his boxers, ruck up the sheet, and send the bag of fennel seed flying.

Spencer managed to keep his face straight as Leo yanked off the boxers. "You never did like alarm clocks."

Leo glared, his hair falling over his eyes. Green-brown fennel seed was scattered across the bedside table, the bedclothes, the rag rug, and Leo's sweaty skin. "I hate 'em. You know I hate 'em. How come you didn't leave it off? Give a fellow apoplexy, why don't you?"

"All right," Spencer said.

"What?"

"All right. Don't know why you'd want an apoplexy, but I'll do my best."

Reaching out, Spencer grasped Leo firmly by the shoulders, leaned forward, and carefully used his tongue to remove a fennel seed from the hollow of Leo's right collarbone. The taste of salt skin and fennel combined nicely, as did Leo's sucking in air between his teeth with the way he went still. Spencer tried removing another seed, this one a short way down Leo's chest, contrasting pleasantly with the tanned skin and glossy, dark hair. Abruptly breaking from his paralysis, Leo slid his hands down Spencer's back to clutch hard when Spencer shifted his mouth and collected a seed from one of Leo's nipples.

Spencer caressed the nipple with his tongue before he raised his head to ask, "Any good?"

"I like it. If you want to know about other fellows, ask them." Leo's words were hoarse.

Spencer didn't bother replying. He preferred to lick and suckle the now hard nipple for a bit before moving on to novel terrain. The trick, he was finding, was to follow the fennel and not think too much.

He shifted from seed to seed, slowly working his way down across the hard, flat chest, the furred stomach that shifted beneath his touch, and on toward unfamiliar country. Spencer paused after consuming each seed to lick and stroke, to caress and bite, guided in his actions by Leo's low commentary of, "Yeah. Good, but move your thumb. Christ. Go ahead and, okay, yeah. There, again." Helpful, Spencer thought, getting a good description of symptoms. Leo now trembled slightly beneath his tongue.

There was even fennel seed in the tightly curled hair at Leo's groin. Spencer paused, running his hands along Leo's hips. Leo's cock was heavily erect, full and flushed dark, fascinating and frightening all at once. Before he could lose his nerve, Spencer leant down and collected the two seeds. The taste, so close to Leo's genitals, was still familiar. Leo's scent was more intense, both comforting and exciting. Curious, Spencer dared to run his tongue along Leo's cock. The skin there was cooler than he would have thought, silken, taut. He could sense the pulse.

Leo let out a choked noise and sank back against the pillows, likely afraid of spooking Spencer with any more instructions. Spencer followed him down and trailed his tongue around the crest of Leo's cock where it gleamed with wetness.

Vaguely, he was grateful that he'd just had all that fennel. The flavor of Leo's excitement was bleach-like and odd. But Leo's reaction, the way he tensed and his hands slid roughly into Spencer's hair, was nothing Spencer could have forgone merely because of an odd taste.

The best way to proceed, Spencer learned, involved rounding his mouth, shielding his teeth with his lips, and breathing through his nose. Persistence, while working a cock, came easily. Spencer let any awareness of strain or friction burn away in the growing fire of what he was doing, who he was doing it to. Leo twisted slowly beneath him, breathing harshly in the hot bedroom, stroking Spencer's face with slightly shaking, urgent hands. Spencer awkwardly tried bobbing his head, moving it up and down, sucking as he'd earlier been sucked. The taste on his tongue intensified.

As if something had broken free within him, Leo arched and almost moaned, "Spence, Spence, please." The words were ragged. Then, "Crap," Leo said, as he pulled free from Spencer's mouth so quickly that he likely got scraped a little.

Before Spencer could even start to protest, Leo rolled him over onto his stomach and clambered atop him. The weight, the warmth and rub of Leo's skin, was wonderful. The soft slide of the sheet on his cock as Leo started to sloppily rut along the cleft between his buttocks was not. Spencer wanted more, much more, never mind that he was one short step from being sodomized. All he found he cared about was how hot and swollen his cock felt, seemingly on fire, near to spending and needing touch.

As he heaved up hard, Leo abruptly ground down against him, reduced to guttural noises. Spencer shuddered as he realized what the sticky warmth smearing across him was. In lust and frustration he grabbed at the bedclothes, felt the muscles in his neck tense, and bucked once more against the sudden deadweight above him.

Voice nearly destroyed, Leo said, "I'm a bastard. Gimme a sec."

With obvious effort, he rolled off of Spencer, who turned over as soon as he was free of Leo's weight. They met somewhere in the middle, kissing roughly before Leo pressed Spencer into the sheets on his back. Leo's hand gripped Spencer's cock, working it even as he slid down and parted his lips. Spencer couldn't wait, though. His hips jerked, and he came.

He'd have thought Leo would pull back. Instead Leo seemed to go a touch mad, lapping at Spencer even while Spencer still spent, stroking Spencer's cock and balls relentlessly afterward until Spencer moaned.

When they had both calmed at last, Leo rested his head on Spencer's left thigh, something that would soon cause a cramp. Around them, the bedclothes were a mess. So were they. Spencer was surprised to feel a slight, deep thrum of desire as he considered what dried on his skin, what caused the scent in the room.

He turned his head to stare toward the windows, grateful for both the stirring curtains blocking the outside view and the noise of the rent party increasing in volume downstairs as the guests danced and sang along to "The Peanut Vendor."

"They sure can't sing," Leo said, his tone idle.

"Lucky timing, though."

"Yeah. Sorry I went so nuts."

"I took it as a compliment."

"Hey, you show promise. Some of it was because of me, though. You and me, I mean."

"Thought so. Suppose that's only to be expected with a friend." Spencer reached down to card his fingers through Leo's curls. They felt something between coarse and silky, quite pleasant. Spencer was lying on some fennel seed, not as pleasant, but he could wait to move.

"Yeah. With a good friend. As your good friend, I'll take you around. Show you the town: introduce you."

"Could be an idea, but you'll have to wait. I'm working tonight, if you'll recall."

"And you're coming to Sunday dinner tomorrow. And I have a half-finished portrait on my hands of a South Seas cutie with a hibiscus blossom tucked behind her left ear."

Spencer considered. "Something of a tangle. Life doesn't stop, I suppose, just because a man learns he's an invert."

"A homosexual. No, I guess not. Life's not that straightforward. Maybe that means something."

"Maybe, good friend. Plenty of time to sort details out." He shoved gently at Leo's head. "Best shift now. I need another bath."

Leo shifted, sat up, and leered. "I'd be happy to join you."

"If you want some bath water, feel free. Otherwise, I remind you it's been eight or so hours since your nephews and niece began the puppy debates."

"Okay, okay, I'll settle for just a bath."

There were rewards for being sensible. Leo was already dabbing on the soap suds for his shave, his suspenders dangling, and Spencer had gotten all the way to dressed and picking up fennel seed from the rag rug, by the time the kids all arrived to inform Leo that the puppy they hadn't chosen had chewed up three of his best India-rubber erasers.

Spencer managed to palm off that last puppy onto Bernice later in the evening, ruthlessly exploiting her gratitude for ignoring the nose tweak to a customer, not to mention an earlier, covert heel spike. After all, a fellow had to learn how to be relentless when confronted with such tangles. He also brought home more fennel seed to keep on his bedside table. He'd be off on Monday, Leo would likely be done with his magazine cover, and then they could keep company.

Fennel seed had indeed proved a sovereign remedy for a certain heart-related disorder, if one that produced more confusion than the ailment it cured. But Spencer was willing to tolerate confusing side effects in this single, special case. This kind of confusion, he'd decided, could be tolerated untangled. Given that the reward was Leo, he'd take his chances with a cure by fennel.

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of SphinxVictorian's favorites so, although all of them are, this is especially for you.
> 
> The story was originally published commercially through a small press, but all rights have reverted to me, where they remain. The usual fandom, not-for-profit permissions apply. Given the obvious fannish influences and tropes, it seemed possible to post it here. I hope you enjoy!


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